


Reminders

by Tarlan



Category: Silver Wolf (1999)
Genre: Character Development, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-26
Updated: 2006-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thanksgiving is a time for friends, family and remembrance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminders

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick story for the MBfic Thanksgiving challenge.

It was another interminable meeting with the Rancher Association on one side, the Townsfolk on another and representatives from the Indian Council on yet another and in the middle of it all, trying to keep the peace, was Roy McLean, representing the Park Commission.

"If we let loggers up onto Pine Ridge they will strip the site of its natural beauty--"

Roy sighed.

"They will only be removing some of the trees, giving the others space to--"

"It's interfering with nature, destroying our natural heritage--"

John Rockwell jumped in, his sour expression letting everyone know where he stood on that issue.

"They's still plenty of forest to go round... the ranchers need--"

"The *ranchers need*... what about the townsfolk? What about the income gained from the tourists especially during the Ski season? Our livelihoods--"

"No-one is going to strip the land... just remove a few trees--"

"You say that now, Roy, but once they get up there with their chain saws and--"

Roy ran his hands through the long strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead, bored with having this same debate for the billionth time. It seemed that every time the Park Commission decided to weed out part of the forest, each side thought it was the start of something far more sinister. They just could not see the point no matter how many times Roy stated it. Unlike him they were not aware that the natural progression of the trees had been damaged by man's intervention, that forest fires would have swept through these trees to clear the way for fresh growth. Now those same fires were held at bay by man, prevented from taking their natural place in the order of the forest. Of course, not all fires were started naturally and there were more people than ever living in and around the Park to make fire-fighting an essential activity through the long, dry Summers.

Of course it did not help that every time a tree clearing project was started the Rancher's Association would start making a play for having that piece of land stripped completely for cattle grazing, offering sums of money that certain elements of the cash-strapped Park Commission found difficult to refuse.

Roy noticed with some relief that the debate was starting to wind down. He was glad. He loved his work as a ranger but loathed the politics that came as part and parcel of the job. The last speaker sat down, the issue resolved to some extent in so much as the Park Commission would do exactly as it originally planned - clear some trees and sell the wood to pay for the operational costs - and nothing else.

Roy watched as the people started pulling on coats and hats, small groups huddling together as they wandered towards the exits. He pursed his lips and thought of the empty days ahead.

It was Thanksgiving. Nothing unusual in that except he had hoped to spend the time with Jesse, but his nephew was going to his grandparents in Baltimore - to Anna's parents. Anna had extended the invitation to include him but he was never comfortable around other people at the best of times, and the thought of staying for several nights with strangers was not so pleasant a prospect. He preferred staying at the cabin - his home.

When he let his mind come back to the present he noticed that most people had gone, just a few remaining who drifted past uttering small pleasantries.

"Yeah, happy Thanksgiving to you too, Ben... Night, Mary. Happy Thanksgiving."

Mary Clifton, the Principal of the school, patted his arm, a soft smile forming on her pretty face. She looked around the almost empty assembly hall of Wainwright school.

"Can you make sure the lights go off when you leave, Roy." She took a few steps away then stopped, glancing back at him. "Also, can we speak in a few days, about you giving another Conservation lecture?"

"Yeah, sure."

Eventually he was alone in the cavernous assembly hall, still seated behind the bank of desks on the stage. Roy shivered, the temperature seemed to have dropped without the warmth of bodies and heated voices raised in discussion. His gaze went to the window where the last of the headlights flashed through before turning away, the red rear lights fading into the distance.

Silence.

Roy should have been used to silence but he found this particular occasion unnerving. He sneered at himself, well aware that it was not the silence but the sudden aloneness that had struck a chord within him. At the cabin or in the forest it was easy to be alone, he would listen to the wind in the trees, to the call of the wildlife, the buzz of the insects. He could lose himself in music or reading. Here he had gone from a cacophony of human voices to deathly silence, from the over-stimulation of hundreds of people in their bright clothing... to a dull emptiness.

He knew what had caused this maudlin mood. He had been looking forward to seeing Jesse, to sharing Thanksgiving with his nephew. They had grown so close since Jesse lost his father.

My brother.

It was at times like this that he realized how much he missed Frank. They did not see each other often, but the knowledge that his brother was out there, only phone call away, had been a little lifeline to him. It had been that way since the day his brother had found him lost and alone in the forest, and had given him food and a map showing him the way home.

It did not help that Roy knew Jesse was feeling just as bad about going to Baltimore instead of coming here, especially as Roy was not the only person Jesse wanted to see again. Jesse had formed so many bonds that spring; to a silver wolf, to Lucinda Rockwell... to him.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoing across the room brought Roy's head up from where he had let it drop onto his folded arms on the table. He sighed inwardly as he saw the owner of those footsteps.

"John?"

John Rockwell gave him an askance look. His dark eyes seemed to be battling with some inward decision and Roy found himself sighing audibly.

"If it's about Pine Ridge--"

"No. I noticed your vehicle was still parked outside. Thought your nephew was coming in today."

Roy sighed again and gave Rockwell a wry grin.

"Change of plans. Anna's parents wanted them to spend time with them in Baltimore."

"Cindy said as much."

Roy sat back in his seat, confused by Rockwell's admission. If Cindy had told her father that Jesse was not coming up for Thanksgiving then why did he... The gruff voice interrupted his thought.

"You're welcome to come to us for Thanksgiving."

Roy nearly fell backward off his chair in shock. He quickly recovered and put on his polite face.

"That's very kind of you but--"

"But you'd rather sit all alone in that run-down cabin in the forest than accept some hospitality--"

"Now I didn't say that--"

"Then say yes."

Roy gazed deep into Rockwell's eyes. They were both stubborn men, full of pride but Roy recognized a small glimmer of fear lurking in the back of that challenging gaze, suddenly understanding that the roughness of address was a form of self-defense. This was a man who had threatened to have him transferred to Alaska over the wolf incident, a man with whom he had butted heads over many issues since Roy had taken over the Ranger's position. It took a lot of courage to make the first overture towards friendship and Roy knew that this was what he was seeing. He smiled, genuinely this time.

"Yes. I'd be happy to come along."

"Then we'll see you at ten."

****

Thanksgiving morning came far too soon and Roy cursed his innate sense of duty that made him set out to patrol one small area of the Park. He set himself a time limit of two hours which would give him plenty of time to shower and change before heading over to Rockwell's place.

Roy glanced over to the dining table where he had placed two bottles of a, hopefully, decent wine; one white, one red. He had picked them up on the way back to the cabin last night, not wanting to arrive at Rockwell's empty handed.

He pulled on his thick jacket and hat then went off to scout the eastern edge of the Park, taking his bedside alarm clock with him and setting it so he would not lose track of the time.

The alarm went off all too soon and Roy turned the pick-up around and headed back to his cabin.

****

Roy stood under the shower for ages, letting the warm water cascade over him, sluicing away the coldness that had seeped into him as he checked over that small area of the Park. Soapy rivulets ran down the length of his body before being washed away. He smiled, tilting his head upwards to allow the water to splash against his face. He opened his mouth and let it fill with the warmth before forcing it out. Eventually, with a sigh of regret, Roy reached over and turned off the faucet. He shook his head, uncaring of the water that flicked out, splattering the shower curtain.

Roy stared at his reflection in the steamed up bathroom mirror and frowned. He pushed aside the doubts that were starting to form in his head and set about taking off the two days growth of beard. Half an hour later he was gazing at himself again, wondering what he ought to wear. Dress slacks seemed too formal, jeans too scruffy. He settled for his beige pants and a pale red sweater, picked up his coat before he could change his mind and jumped into the pick-up, making sure to nestle the two bottles safely before starting off.

****

The beautiful house was set on the slope just beneath the top of the ridge, with the front facing into the forest. Set off a little way were the outbuildings that Roy guessed housed all of the family vehicles. He recalled the two powerful pick-ups, one each for father and son.

Roy came to a halt just outside, letting the engine run on for a moment, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully as the doubts assailed him again. Eventually he made a decision and switched off the engine, took a deep breath, ran his hand through his hair, combing it back from his face and grabbed the bottles of wine. He grimaced as the hair flopped back but he hated the idea of getting a hair cut.

The door opened as he approached and Roy saw John Rockwell standing on the threshold.

"For a moment I thought you were going to turn around and drive off."

Roy wondered whether it would be tactful to admit that the thought had crossed his mind but decided to just smile instead. He offered the bottles and saw a smile tug at the corners of Rockwell's mouth. The door was opened wider and Rockwell made an expansive gesture of welcome, letting Roy precede him along the spacious hallway to the even more spacious lounge.

Roy was met by a tight smile from Rockwell's son, Clay, but the beaming grin of welcome from Cindy filled him with relief. At least he had one true ally in this house. He watched as she jumped up from the couch.

"Come and see the view from the patio."

Roy allowed himself to be tugged towards the back of the lounge where most of the wall consisted of glass. The chill of the cold Fall air went unnoticed as he gazed down across the valley, stunned by the sheer beauty of the Park laid out before him. Roy barely registered Rockwell coming up behind until the warmth of another body reached him.

"It's a beautiful view. I never tire of it."

"Yeah. It *is* beautiful."

"Cynthia loved it too. My wife. You never met her but I think you and she would have got along just fine. She loved the trees too."

Roy nodded, aware that Rockwell's wife had been dead these past eight years, a little awed by the unasked for intimacy. It was strange how that little piece of knowledge lessened of his unease just a little bit more.

The wine turned out to be an excellent choice, and Roy was grateful he took Ben Jackson's advice at the liquor store in Wainwright. The food was good, better than anything he had eaten in some time, mainly because he cared little for his own dietary habits, constantly experimenting with the plants growing in and around the Park. He had almost forgotten what it was like to sit down around a table with a group of people. That thought gave him a momentary pang of sadness as he wished he had been courageous enough to take Anna up on her offer. After all, Baltimore was not at the furthest edge of the known world.

With the traditional turkey consumed and glasses refilled, the small group of four made their way back to the lounge. Roy was surprised at how different Clay could be when someone actually sat down to talk with him. The surliness disappeared and an eager kid emerged. Roy listened as Clay told him some of his plans for the future, offering advice where he could. Cindy was a joy, her interest in the forest having grown exponentially since Jesse introduced her to Silver and Roy grinned at the long-suffering look John Rockwell gave his daughter.

There was a natural lull in the conversation, and Roy found himself asking a personal question.

"I noticed the piano in the corner. Who's the player?"

Rockwell looked uncomfortable for a moment and Roy realized that it had probably been Cynthia's.

"I play... a little... and badly."

Roy gave Cindy a grateful smile, her words easing the sudden tension in the room.

"Wait a minute. Jesse told me you played piano."

Roy found himself coloring, wondering what else Jesse may have told this intelligent and vivacious young lady. He was perplexed when she leapt to her feet and almost raced towards the piano, opening it up and letting her fingers trail along the ivory keys. Soft notes filled the air then everyone winced when she struck a bad chord.

"Will you play something?"

"Cindy. I'm sure Roy doesn't want to be--"

"No. It's okay... though I'm no concert pianist."

Roy rose to his feet and moved to the piano, catching Rockwell taking a quick glance at the clock on the wall and wondering whether the man was now eager for this day to end. Roy sat on the stool and let his fingers drift across the keys, surprised that the piano was still finely tuned. A stack of music sheets were on a low shelf and Roy sifted through until he found a particular piece that he knew well and loved for his own personal reasons. He caught Rockwell approaching in his peripheral vision but his mind was already stretching out to seek the music, pushing all other distractions aside.

As the final note of Debussy's Clair De Lune faded, Roy looked up to see tears clouding Rockwell's eyes, his anguish increasing when Cindy burst into tears and fled from the room.

"I'm so sorry, did I do someth--"

"No." Rockwell took a step forward and placed a hand on Roy's shoulder. "I'm a practical man. Not much for believing in superstition and all that mumbo-jumbo spoken by the Indians... but... I can't help wondering why you chose that particular piece."

The temptation was to just say some throw-away line about being forced to play it over and over as a child, but another look into Rockwell's eyes brought the truth pouring out.

"It was a favorite of my brother's. He loved to hear me play it, said it soothed his nerves. Piano was the one thing he was never any good at... yet he never begrudged the fact that I was the better player."

Rockwell nodded.

"We have a family tradition, to play a particular favorite of Cynthia's at this time on Thanksgiving. One that she used to sit and play at this very piano, for me, before..."

Rockwell looked away for a moment and Roy could tell he was thinking of the wife he had lost. Rockwell held up the CD he had in his hand, his finger pointing to the track he had been about to play before Roy sat down at the piano. It was Debussy's Clair De Lune.

"Seems Cynthia and you are far more alike than I realized."

The next few hours passed in quiet conversation with the sound of classical music playing softly in the background. They talked about the forest, and the men and animals in it. Roy realized how wrong many of his assumptions were of this man. He had only ever seen him as a rival, always on opposite sides in any debate. He had fixed this image in his head of a hard hitting rancher type, racing through life in his private helicopter and expensive pick-up with Country and Western music blaring out, scaring all the animals and wanting to tear down the trees. He had not considered that Rockwell might also love the Park in his own way, that he might take pleasure in the beauty surrounding him.

When the time came to take his leave, Roy find himself giving Cindy a kiss on the cheek and shaking Clay's hand firmly. He turned to Rockwell, stretching out his hand, seeing a softening in that seamed face that had never been there before today.

"Thank you for not letting me refuse this invitation."

Rockwell grasped Roy's hand and pulled him forward into an awkward embrace then let him go.

"Thank you for reminding me what Thanksgiving is all about."

THE END


End file.
